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It wasn’t really about the title. It was about how powerless I felt inside a system that didn’t care about good intentions, preparation, or effort. It only cared whether I had learned how to ask for the right thing in the right way.
“I wasn’t chasing a plot. I was following a feeling. Heavy. Complicated. Rooted in identity and betrayal. The idea wasn’t just a character—it was a world. Once it started, I couldn’t stop writing.”
You shouldn't read this book. Not if you're reading it because you know me. Not if you're reading it to be nice. I love that impulse—genuinely—but I'd rather be honest with you upfront than have you finish it and spend energy being kind about something that was never going to be your thing.